


Tricky Fingerings

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dominant Ben Solo, Edging, F/M, No Underage Sex, Pianist Rey, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Professor Ben Solo, Sex Toys, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, although maybe he did?, inappropriate use of a metronome, no pianos or benches were harmed in the making of this fic, not what Beethoven had in mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28959645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Professor Solo is difficult to please. His student, Rey, does her best but can’t quite get her arpeggios right. He decides to take matters into his own hands. Never before has Rey hated or loved a metronome more than she does right now.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 110
Collections: Anonymous, Kinkuary Prompt Challenge, The 50 Shades of Rey





	Tricky Fingerings

“Again, miss,” Professor Solo’s rich voice intones.

Rey bites her lip and takes a deep breath before restarting. The _Pathétique Sonata_ , third movement, has had her questioning her career choices all week.

She stumbles on the sixth measure, again, and hears the metronome’s click begin to rhymically tap out a slow tempo. 

“Again, miss.”

The authoritative beat of the metronome overtakes her focus, yet her fingers continue to struggle in maintaining control through the arpeggios, even at the embarrassingly sedate pace. Twice more, she tries; and twice more, she fails. 

She feels movement behind her. Professor Solo places his large hands on her tense shoulders. 

“Relax, miss.” His voice is soft but carries a stern edge.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry. Relax. Get it right.”

His hands run lightly down her arms, fingertips barely brushing the sides of her breasts. Her head tilts back at the new sensation. She misses a note.

“Try again, miss...” a whisper in her ear.

She can’t even get past the first measure. His presence behind her looms large in her mind as her arms tingle where his hands had grazed her. She self-consciously squeezes her thighs together and adjusts in her seat.

He nudges her forward on the bench and moves to sit behind her. His ridiculously long legs straddle her hips, thighs enveloping hers, as his hands settle on her waist. 

“Let’s work on focus, shall we?” Soft kisses drop on her neck. “Again, miss.”

“I don’t think I can, sir,” she whines. A flush rises up over her chest and neck to bloom on her cheeks.

“You _can_ , my tempting little siren.” He lightly nips at her neck and soothes the sting with his tongue. “You can, and you _will_. Again.”

At his command, she carefully begins to play along with the metronome, overly conscious of her trembling fingers. His hands come up to cup her breasts through the thin shirt and bralette she wears, and he gently rolls her nipples. In time with the metronome, he places gentle kisses on her neck, traveling down to where her neck meets her shoulder and back up to her earlobes.

His hands tenderly caress over her belly and slip down to the front of her thighs, toying with the hem of her skirt. “You wore this short skirt just for me, didn’t you, my teasing little siren?” he growls in her ear. 

Her legs open for him, unwittingly. She feels his enormous hands travel back up her thighs, this time under the fabric of her skirt, only to stop just short at the damp gusset of her thong. She whimpers in anticipation.

She doesn’t realize it when she stops playing. 

“What do you want, my siren?”

“Please touch me, Sir.”

“I am touching you,” he quips smugly.

“Not where I need it!” she protests, panting.

“Where do you need it? Say it.” His fingers drag, oh so lightly, over the tops of her thighs. “Say it.”

She tries to spread her legs wider, pushing against the cage of his unyielding embrace. “My-my pussy, Sir. Please...”

“Has your performance earned my touch on your pussy?”

With her nerves aflame and center clenching around nothing, she begins again, more slowly than before with the metronome clicking away innocently in the background. With each successful measure she plays, his hands inch closer to the damp crotch of her thong. She finishes the first phrase an age later and is rewarded by his fingers slipping inside her panties to pet the soft curls covering her folds.

Her head falls back on his shoulder as he dips a finger inside to find her wet and ready. At an unhurried pace, in rhythm with the metronome, he begins leisurely thrusting his finger in and out. She is already drenched from his teasing and grinds back against him to feel his hard length pressing firmly against her ass. She needs more.

He abruptly leans away to retrieve a silk pouch from his bag. A bullet vibrator comes into view. She is so wet he slides it inside effortlessly. She squirms a bit to adjust to the new, foreign fullness. It’s still not enough.

Her brow furrows in confusion as he reaches into the bag again. She can’t see what he recovers from its depths. 

Then she feels it.

The vibrator turns on, then pulses off. 

He has a goddamn remote-controlled vibrator. It buzzes again, agonizingly faint. 

_In time with the metronome._

“Again, my siren, with the metronome. First phrase only,” he directs. 

When she finishes the phrase accurately, despite her hands shaking with need, the metronome is adjusted to tick slightly faster, and the pulsing of the vibe speeds up to match it. It’s not fast enough for what she needs.

  
“Again.” 

So it goes for an immeasurably intense period of time. Faster and faster with each pass, but not enough to push her over the edge. Her fingers grow more determined and sure as the rest of her body threatens to shake apart with unfulfilled desire. She feels her orgasm rising, the waves lapping vigorously at the surface. 

Until she misses an arpeggio. 

The metronome and vibe go back to the initial, excruciatingly plodding tempo. 

“Nooooo!” she whines, desperate for the release that won’t come. “Please, Sir--”

“Again, my siren.” 

She starts again, each repetition a little faster, each error punished by a return to the lowest setting.

When she reaches the target tempo with the vibrator and metronome, he croons in her ear, “My siren did so well.” His praise brings her closer to the precipice. “I bet you need to come for me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, so much. Please, Sir,” she babbles.

Suddenly, the vibrator switches to a mercilessly rapid and powerful setting, his fingers find her clit and rub furiously.

Too much, it was too much. She isn’t going to last. “Please, Sir!”

“Come for me, my siren, come _now!”_ he commands.

She cries out, her hands reaching behind her to grab fistfuls of his hair as she rides the crest of her release.

“So beautiful,” he praises, deactivating the acute pulsing. She turns her head and kisses him hungrily in the aftershocks. 

He lifts her off the bench to stand and rises up behind her, knocking the bench back with force. He directs her to place her hands on the piano’s music rack. 

She doesn’t know where she finds the presence of mind to lower the fallboard over the keys before clutching the wood, but all thoughts leave her as Professor Solo unzips his pants and enters her from behind in one decisive thrust that rips a gasp from her chest. 

She feels another orgasm rising as he hammers into her relentlessly. His pace stutters, and he comes with a roar. With a pinch to her clit, she follows him over the edge.

He collapses over her back. She lazily grins. “Thank you, Dr. Mr. Solo,” she murmurs in the hazy afterglow.

And he replies, “Only for you, Dr. Mrs. Solo. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Thank to you LexiRayne2187 for the amazing beta!
> 
> Here is the piano solo in question: [Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, 3rd movement, performed by Daniel Barenboim](https://youtu.be/1A1IY3Wi8Ps)


End file.
